Suspended
by Anna's Awkward You're Gorgeous
Summary: Clove and Cato win the 74th Hunger Games and return to District 2 after their victory. Clove must face her past demons in the face of her emotions post Games, duties as victor, and dealing with the life she never thought she'd come back to. Clover/Cato.


**AN: So this is my first Hunger Games fic ever, so I hope everyone likes it! I'm sure this story has been done before but the idea interested me, so I figured, why not? Enjoy!**

All I heard was screaming and barking, and not soon after, the sound of death. The last breath that escapes someone's throat as they struggle to maintain whatever shreds of dignity they have and say something profound while they still can. And then, after that last breath, comes the silence, and the sound of defeat. Both Cato and I heard it so many times in training, from simulations and holograms; we'd even heard it from others over to course of the games as we fought our way to the final four. But the sound was never so deafening as it was when there was nothing to reflect it besides the silence of the night, and the whimpers of the game maker's mutations as they morsel on the already decaying flesh of the prey they were eating.

I don't know how long this went on; how long Katniss, the "girl on fire," stayed down there, trying to fight off those mutts. They'd already had their way with Peeta, although she might not have known it. Like other things, both Cato and I had spent years being desensitized to other people's pain and suffering, and in any other circumstance, we might have been able to brush this off. But this was no simulation, nor was it even like the initial fights in the Cornucopia, or even earlier on in the competition. This was real life, and we were face to face with the last two people in the games and the knowledge that this was all our doing. Yes, we were bred to fight and be merciless, but we were still human. We'd been unlearning everything we learned in training centers as our skills were tested for real. And we were learning, far too late, that we weren't the killing machines we'd been bred to be, nor were we the monsters that the Capitol and our sponsors were building us up to be. We were still young, we were still children. Coming to terms with my humanity was the last thing I expected when I was volunteered for these games. I was hoping, in a way, that I wouldn't win. And even though at this point, we knew we'd walk out of this arena in victory, we were far from victorious.

Cato stood over the edge while I collapsed to the metallic center, not able to watch her suffering anymore. "Cato," I said, covering my eyes. "Please."

He looked at me, his eyes softening into the closest thing to empathy I'd ever seen on him before. He gave a wordless nod before he positioned the bow and arrow in his hands. We'd taken it from Katniss during our scrabble on top of the Cornucopia, and I knew it wasn't his forte to use this weapon. But the screaming and pleading faded into that knowing wisp of escape as the tip of the arrow pierced through the air and the fangs and the barks and the cries, until there was nothing but silence and the sound of paws scrambling away.

He stood staring over to the grass, where I knew Katniss lay. I didn't want to look, because I knew I couldn't handle it. We'd been trained to be killers, but once my adrenaline wore low, I couldn't bear to look at what had been done. Even in the darkness, I could see the twinge of remorse set into Cato's eyes. It wasn't an emotion he felt often, but even the most brainwashed fighters could be brought to their breaking point.

The mockingjay started to cry as the sky dissolved from onyx to cyan, and the two of us jumped onto the ground and hid under the cornucopia as the craft came to take the bodies away. He held me down, just as he always did, as the harsh wind threatened to tear my small body from the ground. As soon as it appeared, it was gone, and the air started to settle once again. The arena still had the distinct smell of blood, even though it'd been long washed away, and the ground was still scattered with holes and weapons. But the sky itself was bright, bringing a false promise of a hopeful ending. But I knew better, even better than Cato, better than anyone back at District 2, better than our mentors even, that there was no hopeful ending, at least, not for me.

For a moment I was hoping there would be some twist – some sort of announcement that the games weren't over, that me and Cato would have to fight now, or perhaps some other mutations for us to take on until there was only one of us standing. But again, I knew better. We weren't an underdog, nor were we from an outlying district. Even though both Cato and I knew that the rule about two winners wasn't in place for _us_, the Capitol would be pleased, and there was no point in carrying on.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the voice of Seneca Crane boomed. "I give you, the victors of the 74th Hunger Games: Clove Fuhrman and Cato Ludwig."

For the first time since I'd met him, I saw Cato's shoulder's drop in relief. I saw him take in his first breath of fresh air. And I saw him, this beast of a man, break down into the tears that were so fraught with emotion that they couldn't be explained in any combination of words. I don't think he even realized what he was doing, but he pulled me into a hug, however awkward it was, at the word of this vigorous training and battle finally being over for him, and for us.

But I still knew better. I couldn't feel that relief that air, that sense of resignation or that my duty was finally over. Because we may have won the games together, but I knew that in leaving this arena, the true battles would never escape me.


End file.
